The Sweetest Revenge
by abbyfillion22
Summary: Continuation off of Nice Pictures. Sara grows apart from Drew while Jack attempts to reconcile his marriage
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hey, Betrayal followers! My name's Abby, but my friends call me Grey (because I wear a lot of that color, not after Meredith). I'm most known for my Castle fics and this is my first fanfic other than Castle so here goes nothing! I hope you enjoy it and I'm really hoping that this fanbase steps it up a little so this show can be renewed for another season. -Love me or not, Grey**

* * *

_Sorrow in my soul cause it seems that wrong_

_really loves my company_

_He's more than a man and this is more than love_

_the reason that the sky is blue_

_But the clouds are rolling in __cause I'm gone again_

_and to him I just can't be true_

_And I know that he knows I'm unfaithful_

_and it kills him inside_

_To know that I am happy with some other guy_

_I can see him dying_

_-Rihanna, Unfaithful_

CHAPTER 1- TROPHY WIFE

The scene plays out with a slightly Psycho-esque air; Drew's shadow becoming larger and larger against the opposite wall. He moves silently across the tile floor, slowly.

Over the loud sound of the water cascading around her, Sara doesn't detect her husband's presence until he rips aside the clear curtain. She nearly jumps out of her skin but manages a calm stare as she turns to look at him.

"Nice pictures," he says dryly.

Sara stares at him, her lips slightly pursed. "What pictures?" she asks, her heart beginning to pound. She has a lot of pictures on her camera, most of them pertaining to work. Has he somehow recovered that photo of Jack from her SD card? She knows that the police have the capability of restoring deleted photos, but would Drew really go to that extent? After all, he wasn't suspicious at all. He has no reason to snoop through her SD card. Or does he? Drew is just as good as she is at keeping secrets.

Drew smirks slightly as if he knows something she doesn't. "All of them," he says, "all of your pictures are… nice."

"Oh," she replies, her heartbeat returning to normal. "Thanks?"

He stands there for a long moment staring at her. Cold air fills the shower and Sara shivers.

"Was there…" she swallows hard, his steely gaze making her uncomfortable, "…something else you wanted?" She crosses her arms over her chest.

Drew blinks rapidly. "Naw," he says nonchalantly, beginning to pull the curtain back into place.

Sara starts to relax, thinking she's off the hook. It's been this way for weeks now whenever she's around her husband, as if every moment they're together is just another chance for her to get caught.

"Oh, hon?" Drew adds quickly, pausing in the doorway. "Can we talk later?"

"Of course," Sara replies automatically. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Great," he says cheerfully, "Love ya." The bathroom door shuts with a finite click.

Sara's stomach lurches at these words and the world goes blurry. Guilt suddenly latches onto her- like that moment at the party- and she is forced to lean on the wall for support for fear of collapsing. Her sobs are drowned out by the sound of the water and she's grateful for the din; grateful that Drew can't hear her pain. She squeezes her eyes shut and grips the edge of the porcelain tub as she swallows the salt of her tears.

Drew loves her.

He's so good to her; taking care of her like he had tonight. He makes it so hard; so hard for her to feel okay with herself for what she's been doing for the past few weeks. It would be so much easier if Drew was a horrible person. At least then, she would be justified.

But Drew is wonderful. He's kind and understanding and caring and he loves her.

And her reason for cheating?

She's found someone else. Someone who excites her, someone who makes her heart beat faster every time she looks at him. With every moment she spends with Jack, the more sure she is that she's in love with him and the more sure she is she doesn't love Drew. She doesn't deserve Drew's kindness when all she's been is dishonest.

Sara takes a deep breath and shoves her emotions down as she turns the water off. As she's toweling off, she glimpses herself in the fogged-up mirror: tall and thin; emaciated from the events of the night. She's oddly skinny like a ruler; all sharp lines. This must be how Jack sees her, she thinks before throwing thoughts of her lover aside as she prepares to face her husband, dreading the encounter as a prisoner would dread the firing squad.

She throws the damp towel onto its rack and grabs her black silk robe from the closet, wrapping it tightly around her and securing the sash at the waist. Her dark hair lies limp against her shoulders in loose waves and she ties it up in a low bun at the nape of her neck. She stares at her reflection miserably, completely unsatisfied by her state.

She tries a smile, looking for improvement but her expression only looks pained and forced.

She takes a deep breath and counts to ten before stepping out of the warmth and sanctity of the bathroom and into the chilly bedroom. Drew sits on the bed with his Macbook propped on his lap, dressed in a faded Georgetown U shirt and athletic shorts.

"You shouldn't put your laptop there," Sara says lightly, "you'll get cancer."

Drew looks up from the screen and grins. "Says who?"

She crawls under the covers next to him and sits against the wooden headboard awkwardly, her legs crossed Indian style. "The ah- American Cancer Society."

"Liar."

"What?" she says, her back stiffening.

"You just made that up," Drew replies, shaking his head good-naturedly.

Sara relaxes again. "I did not! I read it somewhere."

"Where? You're Making It Up Magazine?" Drew teases.

This time, her smile isn't forced. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Drew's face grows somber. "Oh, right," he says, chewing the corner of his lip and tapping his forefinger against the space bar. "Are you taking self portraits now?"

This takes Sara by surprise. "No. Why?" she cocks her head and looks at him curiously.

Drew swivels the laptop screen to face her, the picture he had found on her camera downloaded onto Preview.

Sara gasps slightly but passes it off as a sneeze. The photo is of her lying naked in bed at the new apartment, facedown and asleep. Jack must have taken it the other day against her knowledge.

"So who took this?" Drew asks, breaking her train of thought.

She thinks of a lie quickly, something she had grown accustomed to doing. "Oh, yes, I am experimenting with self portraits, yes. I forgot to tell you."

"Ah," Drew accepts, looking at the picture again. "Well you look beautiful. But I have to say, it isn't exactly your style."

Sara tenses. "Um. I-I don't know what you mean. I mean, I've never done self portraits before so I don't really have a style just yet…"

"That's not what I mean," says Drew, "all of your pictures are… intimate in some way, but never sexually. You shoot from one point of view; at your subject's eye level, not from above like here," he points to the screen.

"Oh," Sara states, elated that her husband knows her art form so well. "I've been branching out a lot more recently-"

"So I've noticed."

She tilts her head and studies him, trying to detect a hint of bitterness in his tone. "I wanted to…" she continues hesitantly, "… capture this from a… lover's perspective." She cringes. "From… _your_ perspective, specifically. This is how you would see me, Drew, if you were standing next to the bed and looking down at me before leaving for work." Her lie comes so easily it frightens her.

Drew nods. "I get it. It's an artsy thing. But I don't like it."

Sara's stomach wrenches again and she feels nauseous. "What do you mean? You just said I looked beautiful."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, you're gorgeous," Drew assures her. "I just don't like the idea of you selling yourself in this way. It's not a good image." He waves his hand over the picture and smiles at her pleasantly as if he hadn't just slapped her in the face.

"Selling myself?" she repeats. "What is that supposed to mean, Drew? I'm not _selling_ myself by taking some silly self portraits." Her voice begins to rise angrily. "You make it sound like prostitution."

Drew continues to smile. "Honey, this is _pornography_."

"It is not. It's-"

"Art," he finishes, "yeah, yeah, I know. That's what they said about that Cyrus girl at the VMAs. It's always "art"." Drew puts air quotes around "art". "But that doesn't make it any less offensive."

Sara's at a loss for words. Even though she wasn't the one to take the picture in question and would never want to publish it, she's still appalled at Drew's blatant disrespect towards her work in general.

Drew, sensing her anger, takes her hand. "Sweetie, you're the wife of a man in the middle of a _very_ important high-profile case," he says as if she's been oblivious to the fact that he has been featured in every single notable political paper in the US at the moment. "We have a certain…" he searches for the correct phrasing, "… image we need to uphold as a family. And we can't have stuff like this," he points to the picture, "floating around the media to be held against us and taken the wrong way. I mean, you know how the press is."

"I _am _the press," she points out, annoyed by his almighty use of the plural pronoun, "we".

"Exactly," Drew says as if speaking to a child. "So you know how they can take something and twist it into something it's not. Like that bitch reporter at your work today; she made that Greenpeace guy look like a saint. But we all know he ain't one."

"So," Sara says, biting her tongue to keep from lashing out irrationally, "you're saying that I can't publish my self portraits because they'll make you look bad in the public eye."

Drew's smile fades. "Don't put it that way."

"But that's what you just said."

"Honey, if I had known you were going to react like this, I never would have said anything-"

"No, no," Sara says quickly, "I'm glad you said something," she nods. "You're right. You're completely right, it's inappropriate and it was selfish of me to even take it. I'm sorry."

Drew leans over and kisses her. "It's okay, honey. You weren't thinking."

It takes all of Sara's willpower not to punch him right in the throat. How dare he say those things? How dare he undermine her art! How dare he make her seem like some trophy wife, there to make him look good! Still, to maintain her façade, she kisses him back. Because that's what well-behaved trophy wives do even when they're secretly screwing their husband's enemy.

She even lets his hands wander.

She even lets him make love to her.

Because that's what a good trophy wife does.

Because all the time, she's thinking about Jack, his rival, aka sweetest revenge she can inflict upon her husband.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack's day couldn't have started out any worse. He had gotten into a screaming fight with Victor before breakfast, spilled his coffee in the taxi, and was now running late for a board meeting. On top of that, he realized he had left a stack of files in Thatcher's office and needed to retrieve them before the conference. The only thing keeping him going is the prospect of his lunch date with Sara.

"Morning, Mr. McAllister," the receptionist greeted him. "Would you like me to let Mr. Karston you're here?"

"I'm in a hurry, Maggie," Jack says, proceeding past the desk and pausing for a moment in front of the dark wood doors to straighten his askew tie.

He jumps back when someone pushes the door open from inside and he's shocked when Brandi emerges, looking slightly rumpled and very much upset. She clutches her coat to her chest and her face is swollen and red from crying.

"Oh!" Brandi cries in surprise. "Sorry, I almost hit you there, Jack." She quickly wipes her eyes and looks at the floor.

Jack ducks his head to meet her eye. "No problem. Is everything okay?"

Brandi puts on a brave face. "Oh, yes. Everything's fine. I was just talking to Mr. Karston about the trial." Her grin is strained and as she talks, her eyes fill with tears once more. "I should go," she says in a strangled voice. "Have a good day." She pushes past him and rushes to the elevator.

Jack turns to watch her leave, wondering what she was doing in Thatcher's office so early in the morning. He shakes his head, deciding he has better things to worry about than TJ's fake alibi and knocks on the door.

"Enter," Thatcher says, his voice gruff.

Jack pulls the brass knob and steps inside, closing the door again. Thatcher is laid out on the long velvet couch in the middle of the room, his feet up on the coffee table and a glass of ice water in one hand. His eyes are bloodshot by the looks of his day-old attire, it appears as if he'd spent the night here.

"What is it?" asks Thatcher, rubbing his throbbing head.

"I left my files in here," Jack replies, his eyes scanning the room before locating them on a corner table. "Did you sleep here?"

Thatcher stands up, smoothing down the creases in his suit. "Yes. I had to work very late."

"Ah," Jack nods, all too familiar with the late-night crashes at the office deal. "What did Brandi want?"

The elder gentleman flinches and the corners of his mouth pull downwards. "The whore wanted more money."

Jack tucks his folders into his briefcase and stands across from his father-in-law, the table laden with empty scotch glasses and glass cigarette trays between them. "Did you give it to her?" he asks, slightly offended by Thatcher's cruel language towards the woman who was keeping TJ out of prison.

Thatcher scratches his chin and smirks. "You have no idea. Anyways, if that was all you needed, I'd appreciate it if you left now," he responds coldly. "I have lots of work to do."

Jack regards him curiously. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Thatcher snaps. "Leave."

As soon as he's gone, Thatcher slams the door behind him and locks it. Jack checks his watch as he pounds the elevator button, already seven minutes late. He groans internally when the doors slide apart and he comes face-to-face with Jules Whitman.

"Hey!" Jules says cheerfully, looking up from her cell.

Jack nods politely and steps into the lift, pressing the round 2 button and then the inwards facing arrows. He stares straight ahead at his reflection and goes over his presentation in his head, coming up with an excuse for being late.

Jules taps her long fingernails against her phone case and stares at him. "How's your family?"

"You mean, how's Valerie?" he replies, scuffing his shoe against the tile.

Jules rolls her eyes. "Look, Jack, if this is just going to be weird between us, I can-"

"Look," he says firmly, "as far as I'm concerned, you're just my techie assistant, not my daughter's girlfriend. We keep social and work life separate, got it?"

"Got it."

The elevator dings and it's his floor. "Good. I'll see you in an hour."

Jules nods, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. "Bye," she says quietly as the doors close again.

Jack rushes down the hall and bursts into conference room B.

"McAllister, so nice of you to join us," says the city council chairman from the chair across the long table.

He sets his briefcase on first empty chair and stands at the front of the room. "Sorry, I-the elevator malfunctioned. Where are we with getting those panels?"

* * *

Elaine tries Jack's phone again, getting the voicemail. She wipes the bar down distractedly, glancing at the young couple in the corner table. They can't be much older than 18 but she can tell they're in love. There's the recognizable glow about them both; how they smile at each other when they talk, how they hold hands across the table, never breaking gazes even for a moment.

She sighs, momentarily jealous of the lovers, and drops the rag into the sink. It's not quite lunch hour yet so the kids are the only two in the restaurant. The sun streams in through the huge street-side windows and taxis zoom past with passengers who peer into the trendy restaurant in hopes of glimpsing a C-list celebrity sitting at the bar. Elaine carefully washes a few chopping knives in the sudsy water, enjoying the sensation of the hot water enveloping her tired hands.

"Hey there, this seat taken?" a familiar voice asks.

Elaine smiles as she looks up. "Aiden! I thought you weren't supposed to come until Tuesday?" She looks over the counter and sees that he comes with no bottle of wine this time. She removes her hands from the dishwater and dries them on a clean towel.

The young man flashes his perfectly straight white teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I thought I'd swing by. I was in the neighborhood…"

"You live all the way uptown," she accuses teasingly, feeling her pulse quicken at the appearance of the handsome and oh-so-charming wine guy. His burgundy button-down hugs his fit torso perfectly, buttoned an inch below his collar bone to reveal a couple of dark chest hairs. He had obviously spent extra time in front of the mirror today from the looks of his carefully combed hair and clean-shaven face. He smells of expensive cologne and something about him seems more pulled-together than he normally is.

Aiden sighs, fake remorse playing across his expression. "You caught me. I'm here to see you."

Elaine's eyebrows lift and she tilts her head to the side. "Me?"

"Can I buy you a coffee?" Aiden says quickly, as if he had spent all morning trying to muster up the courage to ask. He runs a nervous hand through his hair and tries to stand up taller.

Elaine's smile fades and she pushes her hair behind her ear to buy herself time to think. "Aiden I…" she fiddles with the wedding band on her left finger.

Aiden catches the movement and looks dejected, but doesn't regard it directly. "Just coffee. My intentions are pure."

"Are they?"

"It's just coffee and…" Aiden pauses then reaches over the bar, taking her hand in his. "and I like you, Elaine."

She stares at their hands, feeling electricity being exchanged from where they're connected. Heat rises to her cheeks and she can feel herself growing red. She glances around the empty restaurant and then calls to the waitress bringing the young couple their brunch. "Heather? Will you watch the restaurant for an hour or so? I need to run some errands."

Heather looks from Elaine to Aiden and gives them a knowing smile. "Of course."

Aiden beams, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

Elaine can't help but return his grin as she puts on her jacket and takes his proffered arm. _It's just coffee,_ she tells herself. _No harm in coffee_.

* * *

Jack packs up his papers as the employees file out of the room before him. A few stop to shake his hand and thank him for the presentation. He only barely hears what their saying, distracted by thoughts of Sara and how soon he'll be able to see her.

He can't stop thinking about her, no matter how hard he tries to focus. He sees her everywhere, in everything. He'll catch a flash of a dark ponytail and his heart will skip a beat, a camera will flash and he'll turn to find her, a calm, seductive voice will reach his ears and he'll begin to smile. Never in a million years had Jack imagined he might feel this way about another person.

When finally, he's the lone person in the conference room, he takes a chair and checks his messages. Three missed calls from Elaine and a text from Sara.

S: **I miss you** 3

For good measure, he calls Elaine to see what she wanted but only gets the answering machine. He finds it strange that Elaine would have her phone off during work hours but turns his attention back to Sara, shooting her a response before leaving for lunch.

J: **miss you more 3 see u soon**

* * *

Sara carefully adjusts the exposure on her most recent photo; a longshot of a teenage couple kissing on a park bench, their faces obscured by thick, white fog. A large tree hangs above them, its branches bare, giving the impression of skeletal fingers. In the background is a small pond where geese float lazily in the algae-filled water. The attention is always drawn back to the subject, despite the insurmountable amount of background objects, thanks to the depth of field and the overall interest. There's something about the two kids that's so hesitant yet so special, it's hard to take your eye from them.

Alissa sticks her head into the office. "Sara, there's someone here to see you."

Sara immediately begins to straighten her desk, sweeping empty coffee cups into the trash bin and pulling her papers into a big pile.

Jack knocks on the doorframe, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

Sara leaps from her chair and practically dives across her desk to hug him, receiving a strange look from Alissa in the other room. "Nice to see you again, _Fred_," she says loudly, using the pseudonym to detract suspicion from her boss who already knows too much already.

She closes the door quickly and pulls the blinds on the windows. Turning around, she grabs onto Jack and pulls him against her. "I thought we were meeting at the restaurant at noon," she says, kissing him.

Jack smiles against her mouth. "I couldn't wait. We can still go later if you want." He twists his head to the side to get at her neck. Pulling her earlobe between his teeth, he growls dirty words into her ear as he presses her back into the wood door.

"Wait," Sara says, pulling back to look up into his dark brown eyes. "Why did you take that picture?"

He frowns, his expression serious. "What picture?"

Without breaking eye contact, she reaches into his pocket and pulls out the picture in question, folded in half and worn from being taken out so often. She holds it up.

"Oh, that picture. You just look so beautiful when you sleep; I wanted to remember that sight forever, even when I'm not with you…" he explains, leaning in for another kiss.

Sara turns away. "Damn it, Jack, you couldn't have just used your phone?" she says angrily.

Jack's brow furrows with concern. "Sara…" he sighs. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you would be upset… what happened?" he asks, knowing she wouldn't be reacting this way for no reason.

The corner of her mouth twitches, the way it does when she's trying to say something painful. "My husband… he found the picture."

Jack's jaw slackens. "Does he…?"

"No," she shakes her head, bringing her thumbnail to her lips nervously. "No. He thinks I'm taking shallow selfies," she says with a light laugh. "He thinks I took it."

Jack unfolds the picture and looks at it. "Wow. I must be pretty good with a camera if he mistook this for your work."

Sara giggles. "Yeah, or he has a low opinion of mine." She kisses him gently, testing the waters for any hesitation. She leans against the door again as Jack kisses her back, his tongue darting into the cavern of her mouth, tasting spearmint and whiskey.

She yanks at the hem of his shirt, fumbling to undo the buttons as he leaves a trail of kisses down her collarbone. "I'm glad you came," she mumbles, guiding his hand to the zipper at the back of her dress and pulling it down. He helps her shrug out of the restraining black material and it drops to the floor, pooled around her ankles.

Soon, their clothes are tossed around the office; the morning sun warming their backs. It's like they're the only ones in the world when they're together.

After a few whispered "I love you"s between frantic kisses and grappling hands, her legs are wrapped around his waist and he's making love to her against her office door, oblivious to the entire outside world, oblivious to their spouses' whereabouts.

* * *

"So the bottom line is that we've got nothing against them still and we're down a couple grand, paying that girl," says the female detective.

Drew slams his glass down on the table where the ice clanks against each other, spinning in the caramel-colored liquid. "No, the bottom line is that we don't have the circumstantial evidence we were looking for. _But_," he puts emphasis on the transition, "what we do have is knowledge that Thatcher Karston raped an innocent woman."

Everyone in the room turns to look at him with appalled expressions.

"Brandi will never testify against him for that," says the detective, "you know that. It's one of the many downfalls of having an illegal occupation. Plus, that information can't be held in the court of law."

"No," Drew agrees, "but we do know where Karston holds weakness. He's cheated on his wife. Now all we have to do is catch him at it again; send a photographer to follow him around, get him in the act."

"Stafford, you are out of your mind," says one of the partners, Griffiths. "Do you have any ideas how many laws we've broken already? Do you _want_ to get sent to prison? I sure as hell don't."

Drew glares at him, his mouth curled into a malicious smile. "You want out, the door's right there. But you have no idea what's been started here. You walk out, you'll _never _be safe."

Griffiths comes toe-to-toe with him. "Are you threatening me, Stafford? This is getting out of hand. This is supposed to be a civil trial, the court is supposed to handle the outcome of this, not scandal and slander. This isn't about justice anymore for you, it's too personal. And when things get personal, it gets damn ugly from there!" he shouts, bringing his fist down on the table so the glass jumps, sending the ice onto the floor where it lies in a puddle.

"Damn right, it's personal. You knew what you were getting into when you signed for this, Griffiths. You _know_ how these huge profile cases get. And if you don't, well it was stupid of me to even partner with you because you're a whole lot dumber than I thought," Drew hisses, color rising to his face. "You have no idea what we've started here. This is a bloody war and if you back out, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Griffiths glares down at him. He's a large man for a lawyer, well built, almost a foot taller than Stafford. But at this time, he feels like the smaller one. He nods slowly. "So what are we going to do then?" he asks calmly.

Drew smirks and turns to face the window where he can see the capital in the distance. "Get someone to trail Karston. We're going to expose this guy for who he is; a liar and a cheater." He picks up his drink and knocks back the remaining contents. "He's not going to get away with this."

* * *

"We have reservations at the Vanilla Bean café, that new coffee shop uptown. I hear they have a goat cheese omelet to die for," Jack says, helping Sara zip up her dress. His fingers linger at the nape of her neck as she straps on her heels.

"That sounds amazing," she replies, her stomach rumbling. She watches as Jack pulls on his jacket and fixes his hair in the reflection of her monitor.

She waits until he's properly attired before pulling the shades and unlocking the door. Alissa is waiting for her in the lobby with a sly grin. "_Fred_ is it?" she asks quietly, giving him an approving nod.

Jack shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you," he says in an English accent.

Sara tries not to laugh as her boss and secret lover shake hands.

"So you're the one buying up all of Sara's work?" Alissa asks.

Jack looks to Sara. "I guess you can say that."

Sara grabs his arm and drags him over to the elevators. "Alissa, I'm going to take my lunch break now and…" she looks happily at Jack. "Fred and I are going to share a cab."

"Oh, sure," says Alissa, "take as much time as you need, I know you've been working _very_ hard lately." She and Sara share a long stare at each other.

"Okay, great, thanks," Sara says, hurrying to the elevators with Jack in tow. "I shouldn't be long."

"Mhmm," Alissa says, seeing past her friend's front. She can tell that "Fred" is the one Sara's been head over heels about. She can see it in her eyes. "share a cab, my ass," she mutters to herself.

* * *

"So you and your husband never talk?" Aiden asks, turning his straw around the coffee he has yet to touch.

Elaine sighs, having anticipated light conversations about pop culture on this coffee date, not deep marital talk. "I wouldn't say _never_… but when we do, it's usually about work or the kids." She peers around the crowded café, a new joint called Vanilla Bean that, according to Aiden, is the coolest of hangouts at the moment. Apparently, it had been featured in Glamour magazine as one of the best places to get coffee. Beautiful people around Aiden's age sit at wooden tables on steel stools with books and laptops in front of them, sipping lattes and munching on bagels and scones.

Aiden senses her distractedness and reaches over to take her hand. They're sitting side-by-side in a secluded booth below a dim lamp where they're able to see the entire café from their seats.

He's sitting a little too closely for her liking, but it's comforting. Aiden's knee is touching hers and he keeps purposefully nudging her under the table with his foot. His intense gaze makes her feel like she's the only one in the restaurant that's worth his attention. Even with all of the skimpily dressed college girls traipsing around, Aiden never looks away from her.

She looks away when she finds herself getting lost in his blue eyes and hides her blush behind her teacup.

He continues to stare at her, brushing away a strand of her hair from her forehead that had slipped from her ponytail.

Her entire body responds to his touch, warmth spreading from where his fingers brushed her skin and coursing through her entire being. She's confused by these feelings because she had never felt this way before, not even with Jack, who she cares for deeply.

"Do you love him?" Aiden asks quietly.

Elaine's breath hitches in her throat and she swallows her tears. "I don't know."

Aiden's thumb strokes the back of her hand and he scoots closer, putting a crooked finger under her chin. "Laine," he says, "You are the most incredible, complicated, intelligent person I've ever met. But you're stuck married to a man that you don't love."

"I never said-"

"I know you didn't say it, but you don't," Aiden says and she knows he's right. He puts his hand on her thigh. "You could be happy, Laine, you deserve to be happy."

She smiles, biting her lower lip, and putting her hand over his. "You know, my mom was the only one who ever called me 'Laine'."

Aiden tilts his head and leans in, brushing his lips against hers. Her eyes fall closed and she's swept up in the moment, all too aware of the hand on her waist. She feels her foot rising off the floor to hook an ankle around his leg, drawing him closer. _It's just a kiss_, she tells herself. _No harm in a kiss._


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3: JUST A KISS?

The kiss is like nothing she had ever felt before; warm and tingling and so hot, yet so conservative. She is acutely aware of his hand sliding up her thigh and doesn't stop him. It's so wrong and so right all at once. Aiden's lips are soft and inviting and as she slips her tongue into his mouth, she tastes the coffee he was just drinking, smooth and sweet. The stubble on his face scratches at her cheek as he twisted his head to the side.

Elaine pulls back to breathe, her forehead resting on his.

"I really like you, Laine," Aiden whispers to her.

"I know."

A waitress passes by with a tray full of empty mugs. "Getaroom," she coughs, none too subtly.

Elaine scoots away slightly, blushing. She's too old to be charmed by the likes of Aiden, to be making out in dark cafes, and sneaking around behind people's backs. It was something she would have done her sophomore year before she grew up and finally realized she wasn't immortal.

"Do you want to come back to my apartment?" she asks before she can stop herself, her heart hammering in her ears. She knows Jack will be in meetings all day and the kids are at school, leaving the house empty.

Aiden looks around the café. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No," she replies honestly. "But I want to."

He smiles, adorable dimples forming in his cheeks. "Okay." He reaches into his back pocket, extracts a few crumpled bills from his wallet, and leaves them on the table before scooting out of the bench. He courteously offers her his arm after she shrugs her jacket on. "Shall we?"

Elaine grins broadly and accepts his arm, clinging to his strong bicep as they weave their way through the crowd towards the exit.

* * *

Jack drops Sara's hand to open the door for her, the Vanilla Bean Café sign painted in white Helvetica text across the middle of the glass over an icon of a steaming mug. "After you," he says with a slight bow and a flourish of the arm.

Sara walks quickly inside and is immediately consumed by the crowd waiting for a table. Jack finds her though and puts her at ease, showing the way to the podium. "Reservations for Fred Abraham," he feeds the fake name the trendily dressed woman with the clipboard.

The hostess checks the list and nods. "Right this way, Mr. Abraham." She picks up two small menu cards and shows them to a recently vacated corner booth. "Is this all right?" she asks, sweeping up the two full coffee mugs and crumpled bills before they sit.

"Perfect," Jack tells her, letting Sara into the booth before sliding in himself.

She drops her purse at her feet and takes a menu from the hostess. "Thank you."

"Your waitress should be here shortly," says the woman before hurrying to seat the hungry crowd at the front.

Sara looks around the restaurant. The lights are dim and the wood furniture is manufactured distressed, like something out of a Pottery Barn catalog. Young people sit on high stools with laptops, textbooks, and notebooks in front of them as they sip their drinks and munch absentmindedly on muffins and other various breakfast pastries. "Busy for a Tuesday morning," she remarks, scanning over the menu.

"It's a new location," Jack replies, gazing intently at her.

She avoids his eye as she decides on a frappucinno and carefully sets the card on the table. "What?" she asks finally.

"What what?"

"Why are you staring?"

Jack puts his chin in his hands and narrows his round eyes. "You're pretty."

Sara smacks him playfully. "What are you going to order?"

He slides closer to her and nuzzles her neck. "I know what I want."

She pushes the menu towards him. "Why don't you find something you want that's on the _menu_."

"Fine," he sighs, exiting her bubble of personal space when the waitress comes to take their orders. As soon as she leaves, Jack inches closer to her again. He takes her hand and leans into her ear. "How's work going?" he whispers as if sharing a big secret.

"Good," she said quietly, enjoying just the closeness of him, the brush of his nose on her jaw, his hot breath running down her neck as he exhales. She shudders.

"Tell me about it," he prompted as he took her earlobe between his teeth and began to nibble up to her helix.

Sara stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the attractive man attached to her cartilage. "I just got the negatives back from one of my newer projects…" Her mobile vibrated in her coat pocket and she reached blindly behind her for it. Her fingers meet an unfamiliar filmy material and she turns to see a white scarf. She recognizes the popular designer at once. It's one of those scarves her colleagues always tie around their purses as a status symbol.

"What's that?" Jack asks, peering around her to see what she was looking at.

Sara turns back around, the scarf in hand. "Shame," she mumbles, "I hear these things are expensive."

Jack runs the translucent fabric between his fingers. "My wife has a scarf like this." Elaine wears hers almost every day, the color being so versatile. She would find different ways of knotting it and when she ran out of standard ways, she would turn it into a headband or bracelet. Every week, she would throw it in with the white laundry to keep it bright.

Her spirits sank at the mention of Elaine. Just for a moment, they were a normal couple out on a brunch date and now she was reminded of the wrongs they were committing just by sitting here.

Jack turns the scarf over in search of the big blue monogram that adorned every scarf of this type. "Hers has 'EM' on it like…" he trails off when he catches the navy thread etched in the curly form of the letters, EM.

Sara's frown deepens. "That's a coincidence."

"Huh," Jack remarks, fingering the stitches. "That's quite the coincidence."

Sara tosses the scarf onto the table and puts a finger under his chin, drawing him in for a long kiss to distract him from the little strip of fabric that has consumed his attention. "I'm sure it's nothing. We'll take it up to the podium on our way out."

His mind is immediately averted from the familiar scarf by the presence of Sara's plump lips on his. "I'm sure you're right."

* * *

Elaine pauses mid-stride, her hand flying to her collar that was a little too cold. "Crap," she mutters.

Aiden stops, pressing the cold silver button for the crosswalk with his thumb. "What's wrong?"

Elaine shakes her head. "Nothing," she says, considering just letting it go, but then imagines having to explain to Jack how she lost the $250 scarf. "I forgot my scarf back at the café."

He drops the hand he was holding. "Wait here-"

"No, it's fine-"

"Seriously," he insists, "I'll be back in a second." He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. "Try not to miss me too much."

She blushed at the place his lips touched. "Thank you," she says appreciatively before he bounds off with an abundance of energy, enjoying the view of his toned backside as he sprints down the sidewalk.

Aiden weaves through the early-morning crowd and within seconds, he's back in front of the Vanilla Bean, tossing the door carelessly open. "Excuse me, excuse me, sorry," he says as he pushes people aside. He walks briskly to the corner booth he and Elaine had just left.

A new couple sits where they had been, in the middle of an extremely intense makeout session. He clears his throat sheepishly and they jump apart. Although the café is darkly lit, he can see them blushing and flustered. "Sorry," he says, "did you happen to find a scarf…"

The man with his back towards him turns and stares up at him, the right side of his face illuminated by the overhead lamp and the scarf in hand.

Aiden's breath hitches in his throat as they both recognize each other.

A mixture of anger, fear, and guilt rushes over the man's expression.

It's Elaine's husband, he realizes.

"You," Jack breaths, color rising to his face. He stands up and is now toe to toe with Aiden. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Jack," the woman behind him says, putting a hand on his arm which he shakes off.

"I-I came back to get the scarf," Aiden stammers, intimidated by the look of rage in Jack's eyes. "I-"

"This is Elaine's scarf, isn't it?" Jack growls, crushing the delicate fabric in his fist.

"No!" He lies easily.

Jack throws the scarf at him in disgust and it hits him squarely in the chest. "Liar. Are you sleeping with her?"

Aiden gestures the pretty girl watching with wide-eyes from the booth. "Are you sleeping with _her_?"

Jack plants two palms on Aiden's shoulders and shoves him hard.

"Hey!" a waitress shouts. "Take it outside, assholes."

Aiden regains his balance and shoves him back. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted, staring Jack down. "You have her feeling guilty and here you are, fucking some other woman."

"What's she got to feel guilty about, huh?" Jack spat at him. "What's she got to feel guilty for, _Aiden_?" He says his name like an insult.

Aiden's nostrils flared. "Nothing, that's the problem." He can't believe how faithful Elaine had been... well, until now. And little did she know that her husband was running around with other women.

"Jack," Sara warned.

Jack shoved Aiden again. "Are you sleeping with my wife?"

Aiden scoffs, the cockiness of his age taking hold. "I wish."

Jack grits his teeth, his fingers closing into fists as the guy in front of him smirks.

"Looks like we're not the only ones keeping secrets," Aiden says, his voice calm and controlled. "How about we keep each other's and no one gets hurt?" He knows that either way, Elaine is going to suffer from this deal so someone might as well benefit from it. If things go well here, he's going to be sleeping with Elaine in Jack's bed in an hour's time. The thought makes him smile.

Jack punches him in the jaw. "Get out of here," he shouts, pushing Aiden towards the door. "I never saw you," he hisses for good measure.

Aiden smirks as he saunters towards the exit, his throbbing chin held high. "I never saw you either."

* * *

**Author's Note: It's kind of hard to continue this now that The Things That Drive Men Crazy has come out but here it is. I can't wait to see how Sara and Jack get out of the adjoining phone calls thing at the end of the episode. I'm pretty sure every episode gets better and better so I'm pretty excited for the new one. Sorry it took me so long to post this. I've been busy writing a biomechanics paper for my science fair project... it's not as fun as writing fanfiction :/**


	4. Chapter 4

**Picking up where the last episode left off...**

* * *

Vic had been acting strangely all week. It started out with him distancing himself from everyone and everything; his dad, mom, twin sister, friends, school, and wrestling.

Jack knew that was when something was up, when his son told him he had quit wrestling; Vic's passion since his first day on the mat at age 12. Then Vic's strange behavior escalated to destructive means; beating the crap out of that kid on the street with the baseball bat and getting arrested for jaywalking into traffic as if he didn't even notice or care that he could have been killed.

Vic had gone numb to the world ever since that one night a month ago; the night that changed everything, turning everyone's lives upside-down. He was always caught staring off into space, trapped in his own thoughts that haunted him every day. The guilt was consuming him and he was on the verge of snapping; that's why he had been so reckless about walking into the traffic. He just couldn't take it anymore.

So when his dad took him for a walk near the river, Vic finally confessed. He'd barely registered the conversation until Jack reached out and jerked him to a halt.

"Hey!" Jack shouted angrily, taking his son by the shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with you, I don't deserve this! I…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "God, I… Vic, I'm sorry. Just tell me what's bugging you."

Vic looked out to the river, then back at his dad who was still looking so guilty for shouting at him. "I know who killed Uncle Lou."

Jack's jaw went slightly slack and his brow furrowed with worry.

Vic smiled slightly, his nose running from the cold. "And I think you do too, dad."

Jack's mouth opened and closed quickly. He found himself at a loss for words. Vic _couldn't_ know who killed Lou Merosa. How could he? He searched his son's face for any trace of dishonesty. "Vic-"

"I killed him," Vic confessed, his smiled widening from hysteria. He laughed lightly as if the whole ordeal was a big joke; that's how far gone he was. "I killed Uncle Lou!" he practically shouted.

Jack's eyes widened and his hand reached out to cover Vic's mouth, looking about anxiously to see if anyone else had heard.

"I killed him," Vic said into his palm, his eyes squinting; burning from tears. "I killed him!" He squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears spilling down his red cheeks. "I killed him."

Jack removed his hand, shushing Vic and escorting him over to a secluded bench to their left. One hand around his son's shoulder, the other cradling his head, Jack consoled him. "Shh, shh, quiet."

Vic's smile had faded and he was now sobbing silently. "I… killed him. I killed him. _I killed him," _his shouts had decrescendo into a faint whisper.

Jack stared off into the distance, trying to comprehend what was happening. Vic had _no_ reason to kill Lou. It just didn't make any sense whatsoever.

"I got…" Vic gasped, "I got the gun from Grandpa… he showed me it one day in his office." Vic wiped his eyes. "I stole it from his wall safe and I… I knew Uncle Lou would be out to dinner. He always went to that place near the river."

Jack kept his eyes trained on the horizon, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

"So I waited for him," Vic mumbled, looking straight at his dad. "I waited for him under the bridge. And then Uncle TJ came down with Uncle Lou and I knew it was my chance. When they got close to the water, I pulled out Grandpa's gun and I-"

"Stop!" Jack shouted. "Stop, Vic, don't say it. Oh, God…"

Vic leaned back, his lips in a thin white line.

"I… did… did you…?" Jack stuttered, avoiding Vic's eye. "Did TJ see you?"

Vic shook his head. "No. I-I don't think so. I stayed in the shadows."

Jack leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees and his chin wresting in his hands, glaring at the pavement. This was all wrong. Vic, a killer? He was barely 17, for Christ's sake. Jack thought back to the events of the past few weeks; analyzing Victor's strange behavior. It all made sense now; Vic's vacant looks, his reluctance to speak to anyone, his reckless and violent actions.

Jack jumped up suddenly, startling Vic. "Get up," he said, grabbing the boy by the arm and dragging him to his feet.

Vic was still in a state of shock. "What? Dad-"

Jack took him by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Go home, Vic and stay there. I'm going to take care of this?" He began to turn away.

"Wait!" Vic shouted. "What are you going to do?"

Jack looked back, his body still facing the river. "I'm going to take care of it, Victor, okay?" He sighed, his head hung in defeat. "I love you, Vic. No matter what, I love you." With that, he walked away.

Vic stared after him. His dad hadn't reacted at all like expected. Vic anticipated him to be furious for doing such a stupid thing, to drag him to the nearest precinct to tell the cops. But Jack had barely said anything and now he was going to "take care of it"?" What the hell did that mean?

* * *

Jack sat across from the two detectives. Both of them wore identical three piece suits, sitting with their hands folded on the table. The room they were in was small, the floor and walls made of the same kind of concrete, giving the impression of being in a box. In all four corners near the ceilings stood surveillance cameras, their red lights confirming that they were, in fact, watching his every move, staring at him like the scarlet eyes of Satan. Behind Jack was a window made of bulletproof glass, criss crossed with crinkled wire. And behind the detectives was a two-way mirror, reflecting Jack with his head bowed. Another detective was standing behind that mirror, watching with anticipation.

Jack nodded slightly, telling himself that what he was doing was right; that he deserved what was coming after all that he did in the past. Vic had his whole life ahead of him. He looked up, staring at his reflection in the mirror, then at the detectives, his gaze settling on the small gray microphone on the table in front of him. This was it. This was his moment to do something. He took a deep breath.

"My name is Jack McAllister. And I killed Lou Merosa."

* * *

**A/N: Vic is my best guess as to who killed Lou based off of his behavior but I don't know where the motivation would lie. My only other thought is that the killer is going to someone out of left field like Elaine. Keep in mind the epilogue and prologue scene in the pilot where Sara is shot. Thoughts? PM me.**


End file.
